


Who the Hell is Finn?!

by PeacefulPhoenix



Series: Mallout [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: And I cried while writing it, Angst, Backstory, Cutting, I made one of my beta readers cry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Modern AU, Nick says the right thing at the wrong time like a bunch of times, Scratching, Self-Harm, Shit man these tags are heavy..., Some elements of hurt/comfort, Some hurt/comfort, This AU started as fluff god damnit!, Unsafe Wound Care, mallout au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulPhoenix/pseuds/PeacefulPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night while MacCready and Nick are hanging at a bar, Mac let's slip something about Hancock slip: he lived on the street and he had something to do with a man called Finn. Now Nick only has one question, "Who the hell is Finn?" and Hancock doesn't know if he's up to answering. (A Mallout AU story delving into Hancock's history)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who the Hell is Finn?!

**Author's Note:**

> Critics are calling it “beautiful, absolutely amazing, but O U C H” - Monsterfucker-McGee and “WHY WOULD U HURT HIM LIKE THIS OH MY GOD NO BUT ALSO YES I LOVE THE HURT BUT NO OUR POOR SON BUT YES HURT” - Valencock

Nick and Mac had been knocking back drinks for about two hours now while John and Deacon did who knows what. Nick and John had barely been speaking for days now. He didn't know what he'd done either. As soon as he'd finished his second drink he'd been telling Mac everything, hardly stopping his speech except to drink more.

Only when he was interrupted did he stop. “You can't blame him for that. You gotta do shit like that on the street all the time to get by.” It was quickly evident from the look of Nick’s face that he had no idea what Mac was talking about. “He didn't tell you? Oh… Do you know about Finn?” Another clear no.

Nick stared his drinking buddy in the eyes for nearly a full minute before chugging the rest of his beer and slamming the glass on the bar top. “Who the hell is Finn? Is John cheating on me? And when the hell did he live on the streets?” He pointed his finger accusatorily as though this was somehow Mac’s fault. The tough look he was trying to pull of fell sorta flat though.

“God no! John would never do something to fuck up his chances with you!” His fucked up teeth gnawed at his lip, clearly thinking over what to do next. “Look, let me drive you home. It's best that John tells you himself.”

The ride home was rather short but hardly quiet. Nick continued to ask questions that his friend continued to ignore. When they got to his house, Mac all but shoved him out before driving off. This left Nick stumbling up to the door, keys fumbling in his fingers and dropping to the ground. Instead of picking them up he gave up and started pounding on the wood. “John, open the door!”

He heard scrambling feet almost immediately. The door swung open to reveal a wide-eyed John. “Nick? What's going on? Are you okay?” The man stumbled in without answering, leaving his boyfriend to pick up the dropped keys and lock up again. When he turned he found himself face-to-face with Nick, his real and synthetic hands sliding to his boyfriend’s waist.

John had no trouble smelling the alcohol on his breath as he spoke. “You're mine, you know that?” While this definitely wasn't the way he expected this night to go, he quickly found himself nodding and letting Nick push him against the door. It was less than a second before lips and teeth pressed against his throat.

It was perfect for a hot minute. And then Nick spoke again, voice a growl. “Who the hell’s Finn then?” And then the whole world came crashing down. Just hearing that name froze John in place and sent his heart racing. His chest felt right and he struggled to breath. 

“How do you know about him?” He finally managed to say, trying to push Nick back. He needed space but his boyfriend wasn't providing it. Not until he pushed with all the strength he could muster to push away the larger man. “Get off of me!”

Nick stumbled a second, tripping over his own feet in an attempt not to fall. “I thought you were better than that,” Nick slurred out, taking a step towards John again, who immediately took off, feet tangling together and sending him to the floor. Not that he left it stop him. 

He kept up his scamper to the bedroom, closing and locking the door before Nick has a chance to get to him. It wasn't long before fists banged relentlessly on the door. “You better unlock this! God damn it, John! Let me in!” The yelling got louder with each hit again the wood and John found himself hugging his knees in the corner. The actual words were lost to him, the volume enough to make him feel like the walls were collapsing around him.

His mind was a million places at once. He had thought Nick was better than this. He’d thought Nick was safe. Nick had never hit him - well, except when he’d asked - but now each insult came slamming against his temple like a hammer. But maybe this was what he deserved. It was the only logical explanation why it had always been like this. Maybe he shouldn’t have ran when Nick brought up Finn. Maybe he should’ve just let him have his way. 

No, Nick was definitely right. John was no better than what he’d done with Finn. He’d been trying to pretend he was but he wasn’t. Living together, owning a dog, working a real job, it was all just an act. That was the real John. And now Nick knew. Now he knew that John was no better than your average gutter rat.

He wasn’t even aware that he’d been scratching his arm this whole time until blood colored the tip of each finger on his left hand. The sight had him shaking, wanting - no, needing - something more. Why the fuck had he thrown out his blade? Why the fuck had he ever given up his cocaine? It’s not like Nick would be disappointed. Not anymore. 

Body moving faster than his legs, John half crawled, half tripped his way across the room. It took him less than a minute to find his prize, a pencil sharpener. His hands shook so bad as he tried to unscrew the blade that a fair amount of his already pretty janky nail polish and nails themselves chipped. One finger was already bleeding by the time he finally got the damn thing out. Sure, using a screwdriver would’ve been easier but there was no way he was leaving this room. 

Crisscrossing the skin of both of John’s thighs were scars, some long since healed, and others less than a year old. He’d stopped months ago. Nick had become a vice so there was no need to add to the collection. That ended tonight. 

The first cuts were tentative, testing, shallow. The familiar sting brought with it a sense of calm, the thoughts buzzing in his head quieting just a touch. A slight tug, pulling the skin around the fresh mark taught brought what he wanted. Blood pooled in dots along the line and a smile graced his lips. Not a particularly happy one, per say, but a peaceful one. Each cut brought with it another high, the familiar feeling of skin ripping under his blade enough to bring a small moan to his lips. He’d forgotten just how good it felt. 

The rest of the world was forgotten as John got lost in his own. All that mattered was the sting, the pleasant shake in his fingers - from pleasure now, not panic - and the quiet hum filling his mind. For a moment, he got to pretend that this was all there was in the world, this blissful pain.

Only when Nick quieted down outside the door, jiggling the handle gently did he remember the reality of the situation. “John, please.” There was a long pause and he almost believed that Nick might have given up. “John, I’m sorry. Please let me in. I know I fucked up. Open the door.” 

The really sick part was that John really wanted to. He knew exactly what Nick was doing. He’d read all about this kind of emotional manipulation on tumblr and heard stories from his friends. Hell, Finn had done it almost constantly. It built a level of dependency. It made them into a drug, and him into a junky. But he’d never been anything else. So why should he expect someone to treat him any differently?. 

As he stood, the string worsened, blood flowing freely down his leg and drying in the hair there. His head swam and he stumbled to the door, blade still in hand. He hesitated only as he reached to unlock it. Was he really about to do this? He was just gonna let Nick in here so, what? They could fuck and make-up? Nick could berate him for relapsing?

No. He’d had enough of that for tonight.

His hand fell to his side again and he dropped the blade on the table before falling into the bed. Of course he knew that he should be taking care of his fresh wounds but there was no way. All he wanted to do was sleep or cry right now. Maybe both. Probably neither. Nick would be pissed about the white sheets getting stained but that was a problem for future John. 

Only when he heard Nick’s footsteps retreating did he finally curl up in the bed and start crying.

\----------------------------------

Waking up the next day was one of the hardest things John had done in a while. For several long minutes he simply stared at the ceiling, trying to build up the will to move. Nothing was for sure right now. He knew he would have to clean up from last night but aside from that? Hell, who knows if he’d even be sleeping here tonight. Maybe by the end of the day he’d be glad that he’d never unpacked that dufflebag in the closet.

He moved slowly at first, walking like a zombie to the bathroom and finding a zombie staring back at him. His hair was a mess, there were bags under his eyes, and faint traces of dried blood dotted his cheeks from where he’d wiped away tears. He got about fixing all these things and - with the help of some make-up - looked damn near presentable at the end of it. His cuts were cleaned and bandaged before he donned jeans to hide the damage. There was no hiding the nasty wound left from the scratching but a long sleeve shirt sure didn’t hurt. 

When the lock on the bedroom door finally clicked and swung open, Nick sat up blearily, rubbing the ball of his hand into his eyes. “John? Are you there?”

“Yeah,” he tried to say, voice ragged and barely more than a whisper. A quick cough and a second attempt fixed that. “Yeah, it’s me.” An awkward silence hung in the air as Nick readjusted, straightening out his back. The blanket on the couch made it obvious where he’d spent the last night. John sat cross-legged in a chair almost opposite of him, hands folded into his lap. Neither wanted to be the first to talk, it seemed. 

After several minutes of internal battle, John bit the bullet and did it. “How do you know about Finn?” The question brought a look of relief to Nick’s face that, frankly, John did not get. At least it would probably make this go easier.

“MacCready mentioned him last night while we were at the bar. Said I should ask you about it.” His eyes held John’s, earnestly written all over his features. Hell, it might've even been bordering innocence. There was something wrong with his pose though. It was too still.

It didn't take John to realize that it was because Nick's prosthetic wasn't moving. The charge cable was in their room and it had probably lost battery. The arm would be out of commission all day probably. His fault.

Instead of focusing on that, John refocused on what Nick had said. “So you don't… You don't actually know about him?” A shake of the head answered his question. “But you said that you thought I was better than that. How could you say that if you didn't know what I did?”

Nick struggled to find words. It showed. “I thought… Well I mean, I was drunk. When RJ asked about Finn I assumed that you were cheating on me. I kinda lost it.” John looked downright horrified - or maybe it was disgust - and a slight blush crept into his cheeks. “I know I didn't react appropriately but I would never hurt you.”

“And I would never cheat on you.” To think his boyfriend trusted him that little hurt. Not as much as what he'd thought Nick had been thinking of him last night but still. At least he still didn't know about that. John had left his past behind him. No need to bring it up now.

Nick clearly disagreed because after allowing several minutes of silence he spoke again. “Then what did happen? If you’re not- since you’re not cheating on me, why did you freak out when I brought it up? Was he someone you knew when you were living on the streets?” 

John pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and tugging on the sleeves of his shirt, wrapping them around his fists. “You keep saying you don’t know anything and then you do. How much did MacCready actually tell you? I’ll need to know how bad to kick his ass later,” he finished with a laugh that sounded just a bit too bitter and flat. 

It wasn’t hard to tell that this whole conversation was very uncomfortable for John. Hell, he wasn’t even looking him in the eyes now. “That’s all. He told me you were on the streets for a while and mentioned the name Finn.” He wanted so badly to wrap his arms around John and hold him tight, drive away whatever it was making him feel like this. He’d seen the scratch marks on his hands of course but what was he supposed to say?

When it became clear John had no intention of saying anything else, Nick decided to speak instead. “I love you, John. I know it may not seem like that after last night’s… performance but I do. I have for a very long time and I plan to keep loving you for as long as you’ll have me. Hell, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long damn time. Actually… You might be the best thing that’s happened to me ever. Whatever it is that you don’t want to tell me, know that it won’t change how I think of you. If your past is fucked up who cares? The man you are now is wonderful. Just think of how far you’ve come. You’re doing so well! How long has it been since you last relapsed?”

John’s lips had started quivering about half-way through Nick’s little speech and as soon as he asked how long it had been he couldn’t hold back the tears. He couldn’t answer that question. Not yet anyways. Nick couldn’t know what he’d done. It would just make him feel guilty and it wasn’t his fault. It was John’s. He was the one who did it after all. So instead he just asked something else. “Are you sure? You can’t unhear it once I tell you. If I tell you.”

Their eyes met and it was evident that Nick was carefully considering it. The pause gave John a while to catch his breath and wipe the tears from his face before Nick finally nodded. “Well alright then. So of course, you know my dad was a politician and my brother, the golden son, followed in his footsteps while I snorted away the family’s money. Well, my dad didn’t take too kindly to that so he slapped me around some and kicked me out. Probably not the best time to tell him I was gay, come to think of it.”

He shrugged and continued on as if none of this was a big deal. “Figured I’d fucked enough for one lifetime so I called up my dealer and tried to OD. Didn’t work obviously so I ended up on the street with no money, no drugs, and no friends. Let me tell you, fun time. Sold my car for some more drugs and got to stay up all night every night, too scared to fall asleep in an underpass!”

Nick had his real hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between John’s face and the floor, not that John was looking at him anyways. “Figured out how to make it work though. See, growing up surrounded by politics you figure out how to game the system so I managed to make some money. Lots of kids’ll pay a fair dollar for tobacco and most people don’t realize if you overcharge a little.

“That was cool and all but I was still living on the streets. Well I had this client, Finn.” Despite talking easily, John was now sitting rigid in his chair, eyes fixed on his hands. “He offered to let me live with him. Pretty sweet deal really. Lots of drugs, a roof over my head, food, showers. All I had to do was fuck him whenever he wanted. Maybe let him slap me around some. One night something happened. See, I’d figured I’d been his little whore,” the words were practically spit out. It was the one time he lost his cool, “for a long time now anyways, so why not spread the love? People’ll pay a good penny for a pretty little slut like me. Turns out Finn didn’t like that though. Seemed to think that he owned me. It was fine if he sold me to his friends, but not if I did it myself. So when he found out, he beat my ass and kicked me out.”

His hands were obviously shaking now, despite his obvious efforts to still them. His voice hitched and for a moment he had to stop. No, he couldn’t let himself break. Not now. “You know… Most people don’t want too much when they pick up a whore. The ones that want more though.. That’s how you make good money. Pair that with two day jobs and I actually found myself a decent bit of change. Enough to buy an apartment anyways. I even let some of my… clients pay me in drugs so I didn’t have to buy them myself. Stuff was usually crap and found myself in trouble a few times but it was a pretty decent life. More than I deserved probably.

“Got even better when I met Mac. We’d run into each other a few times before cause we ran in similar circles and I’d seen him pick up chicks on the streets I worked a few times. But when we first really met, we were both at this bar getting absolutely shit faced. Somehow we got to talking and figured out that renting an apartment together would be cheaper so we did. He convinced me to cut out the prostitution - not that I stopped fucking people for drugs. Old habits die hard - and helped me get the job at the mall.”

Nick couldn’t help himself anymore and stood from his seat, practically throwing himself at John and giving him a tight one-armed hug. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He sobbed his way through the words, body shaking and tears running down his face. John’s cool facade finally broke and he gave into the tears too. 

It all made sense now. Every single fight, every single relapse, every single time he’d suddenly shut up. It made perfect sense that he had freaked out when Nick mentioned Finn. These thoughts only briefly filled the man’s mind though before they were overtaken by images of John being used and treated like trash by all these people. The boy with a face like an angel, whose hair fell in his eyes constantly, and who got excited by pictures of corgis. The kind of guy who accidentally buys 20 boxes of cookies and who cried about music had once been treated like shit by assholes who didn’t see him as anything more than something to fuck. And that’s what really broke Nick’s heart. 

John’s tears soaking through his shirt brought Nick back to the real world. “Do you hate me now?” his boyfriend asked, voice a whisper. When his eyes met Nick’s he could see all the tears still clinging to his eyelashes and running down his cheeks. 

“No, of course not.” His hand lifted from the man’s back to tangle in his hair. “I’ll never hate you and you’ll never have to leave. You never have to do any of that ever again. No one is ever going to hurt you again. I won’t let them.”

John didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. But just for a moment, he pretended that he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments and kudos so if you liked, please consider leaving one or both and also I am so sorry.


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